Africa-Press – Gambia. The passing of Abdou Sara Janha last week unleashed a wave of tributes across the nation, but none resonated more profoundly with me than the riveting interview he granted to Karamba Touray—an eloquent dialogue now making rounds on social media. I read it not just with admiration, but with a swelling sense of pride. It was an encounter with the wisdom of a man who embodied the very spirit of nation-building. But before diving into the richness of his insights, I must pause to extend my deepest condolences to his grieving family, his friends, and indeed the entire Gambian nation. We have lost not just a man, but a lighthouse—one who guided public service with clarity, dignity, and uncommon integrity.
In the interview, Mr. Touray was masterful in his questioning, pulling back the curtain on a career that deserves to be etched in our collective memory. What struck me most was the odyssey of Mr. Janha—from a humble classroom teacher to the towering position of Secretary General at the Office of President Sir Dawda Kairaba Jawara, the highest echelon of the Gambian civil service. His journey was no ordinary rise through the ranks. It was the disciplined march of a thinker, a planner, a quiet revolutionary devoted to the craft of governance.
By the time the political winds shifted in 1994, Mr. Janha believed—without hesitation—that The Gambia’s civil service was among the best in the subregion, perhaps even a model for the continent. His formula? Merit, ethics, and neutrality. He championed a civil service where promotion was earned, not gifted; where public servants answered to the constitution, not political patrons. He was a fierce advocate of transparency, efficiency, and inclusivity—urging that service delivery should know no tribe, region, or religion. And he was ahead of his time in insisting that The Gambia could not afford to lag behind in a fast-modernizing world.
Yet, when asked the critical question—what cracks appeared in the foundation he helped build—Mr. Janha didn’t shy away from candor. With the humility of a true statesman, he admitted that the civil authority had grown complacent on matters of national security. Ethnic bias had begun to seep into the security apparatus. The fragile equilibrium between military and civilian leadership was faltering. In hindsight, he confessed, more should have been done to fortify the nation’s defenses—not just from foreign threats, but from within.
These reflections stirred deep memories in me. I knew Mr. Janha not just as a public figure, but as a man who once stood at the head of my classroom. As boys, we respectfully called him “Mr. Janha” when he taught us history—a subject he brought to life with such passion and precision. Years later, that connection deepened when he became a family acquaintance, thanks to his close friendship with the late Omar Secka—a revered PPP-era diplomat—who courted my late sister Leeka Sarr. I still remember Mr. Janha among the delegation that came to our home to formalize the union. Those gatherings, fueled by warm conversation and my mother’s legendary ‘benachin’, gave me a glimpse of the man behind the public persona—kind, thoughtful, principled.
Perhaps that early bond made it easier for me to work under him when I served as the army’s principal staff officer at the Ministry of Defence from 1992 to 1994. In theory, Vice President Sahou Sabally was my superior. But in practice, Mr. Janha was the man I visited most, as I bridged the gap between the military command and the civilian authorities.
During that time, I saw warning signs that many chose to ignore. When the British Army Training Team (BATT) handed over to the Nigerian Army Training and Assistance Group (NATAG) in 1992, the newcomers seemed to misread our geopolitical reality. They were convinced that Senegal posed a threat to Gambia’s sovereignty and began arming the Gambia National Army (GNA) accordingly—ignoring the delicate power-sharing arrangement that had existed during the now-defunct Confederation (1982–1989). The Gambia National Gendarmerie, created by the Senegalese to counterbalance the army, was now under-resourced and rebranded as the Police Tactical Support Group (TSG). NATAG’s arms build-up in the GNA tipped the scales dangerously, and I saw a crisis taking shape.
Out of a sense of duty, I wrote a formal letter to the Office of the President and the Vice President warning of this imbalance. My concerns, however, were met not with gratitude but rebuke. A senior official curtly reminded me, “Captain Sarr, you have no authority to tell us what to do. We have enough generals and colonels from Nigeria to advise us.” It was a gut-wrenching moment—a slap to my sense of patriotism.
Still, I didn’t give up. I turned to Mr. Janha. In a private conversation in his office, I laid out the risks as plainly as I could. He listened. Carefully. Thoughtfully. Then he assured me that a delegation was being prepared to travel to Israel to procure arms for the TSG and restore parity. Whether that plan was genuine or a gesture to placate me, I’ll never know. But I walked away with hope in my heart. The coup, sadly, came less than six months later.
Much of this I recorded in my books—Coup d’état by the Gambia National Army (2007) and Testimony of a Retired Gambian Military Officer and Diplomat (2024). I recount these events again not to settle old scores, but to highlight a pattern. My habit of questioning security policy isn’t born of bitterness or political opportunism—it’s a trait ingrained in me long before social media or public debates were in vogue. As a young officer, I was bound by the military code. Today, as a seasoned veteran, writer, and scholar, I am bound only by the truth.
Some think speaking out is a form of betrayal—especially when one is affiliated with the ruling party. I reject that notion. I remain a proud member of the NPP-APRC coalition and, given the current crop of opposition figures, I would still cast my vote for President Adama Barrow. But loyalty must not be blind. True loyalty involves telling hard truths, not whispering sweet lies. A president surrounded by flatterers is one step away from disaster. A leader advised with honesty is a leader fortified.
Sir Dawda Jawara, in his 2009 memoir “Kairaba”, revealed that he had no idea of the security rot festering beneath his administration—the rivalry between Nigerian generals Abubakar Dada and Lawan Gwadabe, and the growing discontent within the ranks. I had already documented this two years earlier. History, it seems, is finally catching up with the facts.
Those who served alongside me in both the PPP and APRC eras know I was never a conventional soldier. I saw service not as obedience, but as stewardship. And now, unshackled by military restraints, I speak out not because I can—but because I must. Not to tear down, but to protect what remains. Not to oppose, but to preserve. It is not dissent. It is devotion.
And in remembering Abdou Sara Janha—a civil servant of unmatched excellence—I am reminded that true nation-builders are those who serve not for applause, but for posterity. May his legacy light the path for future generations.
Source: Kerr Fatou Online Media House
For More News And Analysis About Gambia Follow Africa-Press
